ღ -- єηαмσя -- ღ
by TheShadowKings
Summary: It's a story that takes place for one year. One tiny year. A small year. It's a story about borrowing and returning. And this is no different from any other love story. Nightingale has, well, pined for Pine for many moons. He travels to another place where Pine loves him, too. He spends a year there, loving. But time runs short and winter comes again.


**Part One: Winter**

Nightingale's muscles burned with fire, but he continued to climb. It was a breathless escape towards the stars. No, not an escape, a crusade. A crusade for himself and his heart.

It was an infatuation, for him. He would always try and be as close to her as possible - even the deputy was helping him by putting them on the same patrols. But she didn't see. It wasn't because she had a mate, no, it was because she was oblivious to subtlety and what little charm he had. She - the one who made his heart beat faster, the one who made his insides feel runny whenever she smiled at him, the one who gave him enough attention to make him gave an everlasting crush on him - was oblivious to everything he did. Luckily for him, she was oblivious to his faults. Of which he had plenty - enough for two or three cats.

About halfway up the tallest tree in the forest was where he would beg the stars for some help in attracting the female he wanted. The bare tip of the tree loomed ominously above him. Along with scaring him, the edge was calling him.

The stories Nightingale had heard said that if he climbed to the top on a night when the Aurora was cast from the stars, some good stars might help him for bravery and dedication. It was a gamble, though. There were winds that could shove him off from the tree and into the icy depths below; there were predators who resided in the trees that could catch him; there was the chance that he could give up and not be able to get back down; the stars could punish him for coming only for selfish purposes; he could freeze; or he could be shot by a hunter. Nightingale only hoped that his cause was not selfish. His cause was love.

Quicker now, he scurried, fearful that he might miss his chance. It was nearly springtime - where the Aurora was less powerful, where the stars had less control.

Through the branches he heaved himself, getting closer to the life he wanted to live each time he lifted his paw. He might have nearly fallen a couple of times, making his heart skip beats. He might have nearly given up, but the thought of returning to his normal life was too much pain.

There was a life Nightingale envisioned. There was a future where things were amazing for him. In this world, in this _life_ that he so desired, Nightingale was the father of many kits that would grow to be strong and loyal cats. He was also a respected person. Some details changed from each time he thought of it - how many kits, what their names were, where his den was - but one thing never changed; he always had Pine.

To some, Pine might not have been very significant. But to Nightingale, he loved everything about her; everything including her young, kit-like face, her luscious and russet fur, and (to be brief) her sardonic, but kind personality. Pine was his drive, the reason why Nightingale fought so hard to find the perfect den and the perfect place to raise a family; why Nightingale was risking death and being eternally condemned.

Nightingale gritted his teeth. He felt like he was above to give up; he was so high, he was starting to get dizzy and scared. There were angry jabs in his stomach and bumbling bees in his head. But there was fire in his blood.

"For you, Pine."

Nightingale made it to the top; besides the height and fear, it was the easiest part of the trip.

He caught his breath, looking down. _I'm so scared,_ he thought, digging his claws into the soil deeper. But it was hard to stay sturdy, the wind pushing him each way and that, his muscles quivering from exhaustion, and his mind barely able to form a coherent thought from his deliriousness.

The Aurora started to form, which caught his eye. It slowly fed him energy, wrapping Nightingale in a blanket of color. Emerald and orange collided in the sky, bringing pink and blue with them. Where the two colors met, there was white. It was not the white that stretched in every direction, but a white made up of every color. It was painful to look at.

But a face appeared in the white; Nightingale forced himself to take a deep, shuddering breath and look at it.

He wasn't sure what animal it was - it could've been a bear or a fish, a cat or a dog, a bird or a fox. But it was something more, something surreal.

Nightingale bowed, humbled.

The Aurora mimicked the features of Nightingale's face, and ended up looking like a tomcat. In a voice that was neither male nor female, child nor adult, it spoke, "Why do you come?"

It took a lot of courage to speak to the strange cat, of who humbled Nightingale. For a few seconds, no words came out of his mouth, despite the fact that Nightingale was mouthing the words desperately. When syllables started to form into words, Nightingale took a deep breath of the wintry air; it burned like fire in his throat. "I come for love," he mumbled shyly.

"I did not catch that," said the voice in monotonic syllables. The colors of the Aurora glistened and morphed. Instead of a cat, she was a bear, but the resemblance to Nightingale's face was still there.

"I come for love," repeated Nightingale, louder. His legs felt very wobbly, as if he might fall off the branch. _No, please, oh, Auroa, no,_ he thought. "I come to love someone. I want them to love me back in return. I can't do that without your…" Nightingale's voice faded away, his sudden burst of courage gone. In a small whisper he finished, "assistance."

The bear nodded his consent; Nightingale's heart ached with delight. Nothing like this had happened in many generations; especially not to cats like him – ordinary.

"Who do you desire?"

Feeling something, like strings pulling at his heart, Nightingale gasped. There was so much pain – almost too much pain for him to bear. Struggling for air, Nightingale pawed feebly at the bear-cat-star. It wasn't a physical enemy, but his instincts were taking over: the pain was as real if he had been clawed and blood was seeping out of his sides.

"I know what you desire, fool!"

The wind intensified and the pain grew stronger as an enchanting siren's song filled the air. It rang clear, each note holding true, echoing over the mountainside. White and red filled Nightingale's eyesight as he felt himself slipping off of the branch. His heart rate accelerated; he could hear the relentless pounding in his ears.

Nightingale was looking at his body from outside of his body. He saw how ugly he looked, how his horrible personality reflected on his appearance. _No wonder she doesn't want me – I don't want me!_ Having trouble comprehending what was happening, Nightingale started to shake, fearing he was dead.

Suddenly, the pain stopped. Nightingale blinked through his own eyes. Everything was as calmer and it seemed almost… balmy.

"I have decided that you are worthy of a deal – not a gift, a deal." It came as a half-surprise to the somewhat dead cat. Cloudy thoughts were in his head, mixing fantasy and reality, pastels and naturals, fact and fiction. It was a glorious world, too, fine with him; there was happiness and Pine was there.

"Okay," murmured Nightingale.

"You will have your happy ending," declared the bear-cat. "But I will need to take your love away after a certain amount of moons – forty moons. I get lonely, being the only Aurora. I need someone else."

The second part didn't register in Nightingale's head. All he realized was that he was getting Pine as his mate – she would finally fall in love with him. "Thank you!" Little did he know was that he, too, was signing away his own fate.

The colors swirled around Nightingale; for a split second, he, too, was part of the Aurora. Nightingale thought he floated into the lights and washed out on the other side. The world looked different; brighter, cheerier – spring was on her way. And with spring, brings new flowers and new buds into the world. The world becomes a song. In spring, the world is a haven, filled with romance and boisterous songs.

Nightingale was too tired from last night's dreams to enjoy any of it right then and there. But he knew that when he got back to the rouge camp, Pine – and a future – would be waiting for him. Just the thought made any worry, any doubts, ebb out of him and onto the snow.

Right before he fell asleep, a stray nagging thought kept at him: _what if this is just a hallucination brought on by being too cold?_


End file.
